


Adagio

by adastra615



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Angst, Ballet, F/M, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Rumbelle Showdown 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 10:46:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10489131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adastra615/pseuds/adastra615
Summary: Gold hasn’t been outside the house much since it happened. It’s only after Bae begs him to let him start ballet classes that he gives in and drives him to the small studio- an old converted theatre. At first  he doesn’t think he can stay, but then he sees her. He’s only spoken to her on the phone: She’d said her name was Belle French and he’d thought she had the most beautiful accent.  (My Rumbelle showdown round 1 fic.)





	

There’s an ache in Gold’s chest the first time he sees her, but rather it’s the melody – Tchaikovsky’s Danse Chinoise blaring loudly through the CD player on the stage, the thunk of slippered feet, and her voice counting away the measures – that is the real culprit. The latent pain in his ankle flairs and he wants to flee.

Bae moves effortlessly across the stage, like he’s born for it, an assuredness to the pirouettes and _Tour en l'airs_ **.** Such confidence seems foreign in his shy son, so closed off since his mom left. In that way they are exactly the same.

Gold hasn’t been outside the house much since it happened. It’s only after Bae begs him to let him start ballet classes that he gives in and drives him to the small studio- an old converted theatre. The chairs in the audience creak and the stage is at capacity with five students. At first  he doesn’t think he can stay, but then he sees her. He’s only spoken to her on the phone: She’d said her name was Belle French and he’d thought she had the most beautiful accent.

She holds herself so carefully, assured in her steps, and yet there’s something sad in her expression that even from the back row seems to bleed through. He sits down, stays. 

He thinks of the long grueling hours of his own career, and the abuse he put his body through, until it all became too much and his ankle snapped ending his career at thirty-three. He’s asked himself why he’s letting Bae do this, but he knows. The boy has heard “no” too many times in his short life and he just can’t say it to him again. And some part of him thrills to think there’s something about him Bae admires and he wonders if that’s selfish. And inevitably he thinks of Milah who was tired of being saddled to a failure, who eloped with her new handsome dance partner, sailing away for Madrid and bigger and better things on his yacht.

It’s Bae who convinces him to speak to her. “Please, dad,” he says, “she really wants to meet you.”

 “You didn’t tell her, did you?” he says in exasperation, but agrees when Bae looks dejected. 

“Rum Gold,” he says and they shake hands, and he says it’s nice to talk to her in person. It isn’t the same on the phone. And he really likes how she gets the children she teaches to come out of their shells. How Bae needs another good influence in his life.

 He knows he’s rambling but he can’t stop because she’s even prettier up close. And he doesn’t want her to say it: that she recognizes him from when he used to be famous, when most of the ballet world knew his name and his performances, before his ankle gave out on him. He tries not to lean too hard on his cane.

She doesn’t, even though he can see the recognition in her eyes.

“Bae is a wonderful student,” she says beaming. “He’s very lucky to have a father like you.”

 To that he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t expect it. And he’s sure his uneasiness shows.

Before he gets a chance to intercede, Bae’s invited her to join them for ice cream. At first Gold’s afraid she’s going to say no; she takes a reflexive step backwards, but then something shifts like a lull in a waltz and she agrees. It becomes a weekly tradition.

 It’s there, about a month after they first go when he notices the bruises on her arm and thinks, someone’s put them there and the sadness she tries to hide makes sense. He feels some emotion rise in him, an anger he hasn’t felt in the longest time.

Outside of the ice cream parlor he goes to say something, but she stops him. He casts a quick glance to Bae waiting in the car, but he’s occupied with his Gameboy.

“You won’t see me again after tonight. It was nice. All of this, I mean,” Belle says.  

“Where are you going?”

“I have a ticket,” she says. “But nowhere really in mind.”

Something gives way, and he finds more than anything he doesn’t want her to leave.  That whatever this is; this small friendship that’s formed over Rocky Road and hot chocolates he doesn’t want to lose, and then he thinks she must be in danger, she’s afraid. His gaze must linger on her arm, because she pulls her shawl lower and gives a small defensive laugh.

“Who did this to you?” he says barely controlling himself.   

 “No one.” She looks behind her shoulder. “Just, I’ve always wanted to see the world. And I feel like I’ve been here too long.”  

He doesn’t want her to go, but he knows he can’t ask her to stay either. And in that moment he’s too much of a coward to say he’ll fight for her. He’s never been that brave. He hates himself for it.

In the middle of the night, he can’t live with that decision. He dresses quickly and drives to the train station. When he gets out the rain is pouring so hard that his shirt is soaked through and it runs in drivels through his hair. He doesn’t see her at first hidden behind an old shabby umbrella. Her face turned away. He’s on the opposite side of her arriving train when he hears the whistle. He moves as quickly as he can to reach the bridge that connects the two sides, damning his ankle for slowing him down.

He doesn’t see where he comes from, but as he runs down the stairs to her platform, a large man with dark hair grips her wrist.

“Gaston,” she says and tries to pull free, the umbrella dropping from her hand. He doesn’t think, just moves - maybe like he used to - a speed he doesn’t recognize in the man he’s become, crossing the few feet that separates him from Belle.

“Get away from her.” He says with a voice and a strength he doesn’t recognize.

“Oh, what’s this Belle,” Gaston says and leers forward.  “Your attack dog?”

“Please, Gaston.” She struggles twisting out of his grip.

“ _Please, Gaston,”_  he mocks in a sing-song voice, and goes to reach around Gold, but he stops him with his cane, raising it just as his arm snakes out. He can feel the strength of the other man against it, testing him, seeing what he can get away with.  

“I wouldn’t,” Gold says darkly. 

Gaston looks him up and down. And let’s out a bark of derisive laughter. “Oh, sure. Uh huh. What are you going to do?”

 Gaston swings his arm forward, his fingers closed in a fist. Whatever is left of Gold’s intuitive sense of movement, allows him to sidestep, gripping Belle as he moves and turning them away, and for a moment he can fool himself into thinking they’re partners up on the stage; the fog rolling in with the rain, part of the effects, the clap of thunder, the darkest moment before the resolution. She’s cold in his grip though, the rain soaking them both.  Gaston stumbles forward, catching himself before he falls onto the tracks. With a low growl he dives forward, but before he can do anything, Belle steps forward brandishing her umbrella and delivers a solid thwack to the side of his head. He drops to his knees, gaping at her.

The security guards have seen enough, and before the situation escalates any farther, they’re crossing over to them and advising Gaston that it would be best for him to leave. They detain him when he stumbles to his feet and takes another drunken swing in their direction.   

Belle stands there shivering, still gripping the umbrella. He wants to give her his coat, but it’s already soaked. So he does the only thing he can think of. He invites her back to his house for hot cocoa to share with Bae and him.

She stares down the tracks, but after a moment he feels something shift again, like how he used to when dancing. Not so much counting the rhythm in his mind, but a feeling for when things were right, for his cue to move, for it all to come together and there’s something of that feeling now. That this is right, was always meant to be, and he can’t explain it. She loosens her grip on the umbrella and laughs in a shaken sort of way that he thinks might give way to tears.  He can feel the adrenaline within himself dying away leaving him shaken too.  He can’t really believe what just happened. When he looks back on it, he’s sure it won’t feel real.  He remembers that brief spark of connection and he thinks more than anything he wants to get to know her better. He starts to see a different future.

 


End file.
